


Wrong Place

by Aurumsky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Ben made him watch the movies, Dean is a Marvel fan, Everyone Has Issues, Fucking up the timeline just a bit, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Unwanted Second Chances, an attempt at plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurumsky/pseuds/Aurumsky
Summary: Dean Winchester's exit from the Purgatory didn't lead him to the world he was going to.Natasha Romanov's morning is interrupted. But it's for the better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing with this shit.

Natasha is alone at the compound that morning -six thirty, Steve went on a run, Clint is on a mission for another week still, Tony is in New York, Thor returned to Asgard, Bruce is meeting with Betty Ross- and she’s enjoying her time alone even when the empty kitchen haunts her and the halls, no more emptier than usual, echo her steps. She knows it’s her imagination, the sudden emptiness at the lack of life, and she takes ridiculous solace at the still open newspaper and a forgotten glass on the kitchen island.

She sits down, stares for a full five seconds before she gets up again and opens the refigerator. Her ritual is mechanical by now, pour a glass of orange juice, drink half of it, add half, put the juice away, prepare breakfast.

 “Ms. Romanov,” JARVIS says when Natasha has been staring at a cucumber slice too long, “I apologize for the interruption, but someone is approaching the Compound from South. They appear to be a male and injured.”

Natasha nods. She walks, stiff for reasons she doesn’t know, to the South entrance.

 “Call Steve in, please?” JARVIS doesn’t respond, and Natasha leans herself against the glass and waits. She isn’t sure whether she should go meet the stranger half-way, but before she can make a decision, Steve is jogging towards her, fresh from his ungodly morning run.

 “What’re we dealing with?” He asks, squinting against the morning sun. Natasha shrugs.

 “I dunno. He’s coming slow so most likely not a hostile, but I…” I would rather be prepared.

Stark walks through the doors a few minutes later, suit rumpled in a way that means he flew in as JARVIS alerted him. He looks tired, and Natasha wonders why he came back to deal with something so meaningless personally. She doesn’t say anything, for now, but makes a decision to have a talk about it with JARVIS later on.

The closer the man comes, the more certain Natasha is he is not a threat. Under different cincumstances, maybe, but not right now. She does a tally of his injuries (several cuts, shallow and deep, at least one cracked rib, concussion, twisted ankle, sunburn?) and readies herself to fight even though the man is covered in dirt and blood and looks like he could drop dead any second now. He has a purpose in his steps, stride steady despite the fact he’s running on fumes.

The man stops three feet before them, eyes -green- squinting as if he’s not sure if to believe what he’s seeing. He chuckles a weak _well whaddaya know_ , then promptly collapses.

Steve startles forward immediately, and manages to catch the man before his head hits the ground. The super soldier cradles the injured man in his arms and looks helplessly between Tony and Natasha, wordless question in the air.

 “Bring him in,” Tony says, turning to walk back in.

Natasha leaves the man to her teammates, and disappears back to the kitchen to restart her attempt at making breakfast. Steve joins her after twelve minutes, fresh from a shower and sits on a barstool to eat one of those vile ready made sandwiches he seems to like.

 “We took him to medical, they’re patching him up at the moment.” Natasha nods. She tries to tell herself she’s really not that interested, aside how impressive it is that the man made it all the way from knowhere to the coumpound with such injuries.

“He still out?” She asks and eats a cucumber slice because that’s where all the slices need to go. Steve nods.

 “It looks like he hasn’t slept in a few nights, wouldn’t be surprised if he was out for a couple of days.” Then he asks if she’d join him in the training room after dinner and they don’t concern themselves with the stranger anymore.

 

* * *

 

“He woke up and pulled half his stitches trying to fight his way out,” Tony says after Natasha and Steve emerge from the training room.

 “What?”

Stark shrugs and looks as he swirls his scotch. Natasha looks at his drink, too, though only to note it’s untouched. Tony always pours the same amount, no matter how drunk he was planning on getting. He’s been drinking less, recently, and Natasha knows he’s promised Pepper he’d stop. He’s trying, she knows.

 “He woke up, pretty inoriented and just up and left his bed. The security tried to reason with him, but then things got violent.” He downs half of his drink and makes a face at it before walking to the door. “He’s awake if you want to see him.”

Steve steps to follow Tony without hesitation, only stopping to look questioningly at Natasha. She shakes her head: if they all went it would seem like they’re trying to intimidate him, and she still isn’t interested (maybe. Okay, she is. Sue her). The spy watches the two go down the hallway, then, against her better judgement, asks Jarvis to pull up the security footage of the room their stranger is housed in. The AI sounds infuriatingly smug when he answers.

“Of course, Ms. Romanov.”

 

* * *

 

“Is there anyone we- someone you can call?” Steve asks with a soft voice that Tony knows is exclusive to harmed civilians. Green Eyes narrows his eyes as if he knows that too, and shakes his head.

 “I’ve a brother, but we haven’t seen each other in.. Some time.”

It’s a pitiful statement that makes people assume they had a fight of some sort. Tony thinks that may be exactly what the stranger wants people to think. It does seem better than the alternative. The medic that is curently stitching Green Eyes together sends him a compassionate look that seems to go unnoticed.

Steve hunches a little, manages to make his massive form still clad in sweaty workout clothes appear smaller and welcoming. Green Eyes doesn’t buy it. Tony has to congratulate the man: on Bad Days even Natasha falls victim to Steve’s all American charms.

 “But I, I don’t really need to call anyone,” Green Eyes says, “just patch me up and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

It’s a move Tony knows all too well, evasion and nonchalance, not letting people near and accepting help only when absolutely necessary or forced on him. If Tony wouldn’t be busy trying to find something other than pain in those green eyes, he might have been put off by trying to compare himself to strangers. He’s willing to let the man go; he’d be a hypocrite to tell him to get rest and let himself be taken care of, and Tony is a lot of things, but hypocrite isn’t one of them. Most of the time.

One reason Tony would want the man to stay is because JARVIS can’t seem to find anything about the man and because of the bandage Green Eyes is adamant no one touch. Tony doesn’t remember if the medics from earlier had removed it.

Steve frowns and Tony knows the Captain isn’t going to let it go.

 “Do you have anywhere to go?”

The guy shrugs, then winces as the movement pulls at the gash on his left side.

 “Yeah. Gotta travel a while but I’ve a place.”

Steve tilts enough to catch Tony’s eye. He shrugs, already knowing what Steve is going to say.

 “Is it alright if you stay here until a doctor has confirmed you don’t need to be on bedrest?” Green Eyes shrugs, altough he looks like he’s about to argue that his injuries hardly require bedrest, which Tony would argue against, but he doesn’t do hypocrisy anymore.

 “Sure, I ain’t in a hurry.”

Tony leaves, because suddenly his throat is closing up with feelings he isn’t equipped to deal with, and he downs the last of his scotch and disappears into his workshop. JARVIS informs him that Steve made sure Green Eyes was put to sleep, and that he should be staying for the next six days.

Tony makes sure the guy is fed and bathed and that he has entertainment and then deliberately doesn’t think about him. If he hears that Natasha sometimes pulls up the security footage from Medical Room 3 or that Steve sometimes walks past it in an aborted intention of a visit, well, he doesn’t say anything about it.

 

* * *

 

The guy’s served, Steve can tell. He doesn’t know where or how long but the man standing in front of him has been to war. And he’s seen unimaginable things.

Steve doesn’t ask because he doesn’t have any right to. He doesn’t know the guy’s name and no one either looked it up or hasn’t tought to tell him, so Steve figures asking a personal question like that is overstepping boundaries big time.

Green Eyes, like he’s heard Tony and Natasha adress him several times, is as casual as someone can be with cracked ribs and a broken arm. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, which is another thing to worry about. Steve knows the pain meds are good, but not that good and not without side-effects like drowsiness.

 “So, uh, thanks for fixing me up, Captain,” he says awkwardly, fiddles with the strap of his backbag he had arrived with. It had been refilled with a change of clothes and packed food and water, at the insistence of Steve and courtesy of Tony. “And for these,” he finishes, lifting the bag a little.

 “It’s the least we could do.” Steve assures. The guy’s lips twitch a little, one side lifting up and forming a half-smile. Steve thinks it’s pretty, then kills the thought.

Green Eyes shrugs, then salutes -it’s a perfect marine salut for all of a second before he remembers to fake not knowing it- and with a last take care walks out the door.

Steve watches him go, and Natasha slips next to him just as the guy climbs into the car Tony had arranged to take him to city,

 “He’s pretty, isn’t he?” She whispers in that teasing voice Steve hates. He doesn’t plan to dignify her with an answer, but bumps her shoulder with his side and lets a _you would know, wouldn’t you, Tasha?_ slip out anyway.

She gives him a soft glare before smiling and shrugging. “Got me.”

 

* * *

 

 “Hi, so I know this is for emergencies, but I _figured_ this is an emergency..”

The voice is static and crackling, making the already panting voice harder to make sense of. Steve briefly hopes this is not some soddy beginning to phone sex. “Uh, okay?”

Wow, so eloquent, Captain America, the man who led the Howling Commandos back in WW2, everyone. Green Eyes cackles, then yelps and curses as something crashes in the background, and yep, definitely not a lead up for phone sex. Steve frowns away the intrusive line of thoughts that repeat _shame_.

 “So yeah. I’m six hours away and just wondering if I could crash in, just for a night. Two, tops.”

Steve looks up and mouths at JARVIS, a moment later the request is acknowledged and granted by Tony.

 “Yeah, yeah,” he says, continuing on the path of a future poet, “can I ask what this is about?”

He hears an engine growl to life, rough and powerful, before Green Eyes grunts. “I’d rather not tell on the phone; it’s gonna be lot to swallow.”

 So Steve spends the next six hours pacing and being irrationally worried for the stranger. He knows Green Eyes can fight, if his military way of moving is anything to go by, and his casuality with the injuries suggests he gets them a lot, and unless he has Hydra on his ass… Steve isn’t actually sure where he’s going with this. Point is, he shouldn’t be as worried as he is, and Natasha agrees when she pops in the entrance hall with a water bottle and a grin Steve hates.

 

* * *

 

 

He has blood smeared on his cheek. And neck. Actually, there’re teeth marks on the juncture of his shoulder where Steve figures (hopes) most, if not all, the blood came from. Horrific, big teeth marks that look like a dog’s.

Steve swallows.

Green Eyes is grinning bashfully like he got caught in the rain instead of getting soaked in blood. He’s misplaced, in the entrance hall of the Avengers Compound that is white and glass and designed by Tony _fucking_ Stark, and Green Eyes is wearing faded jeans and flannel and a jacked that is speckled with blood… Steve swallows again.

 “What happened?”

Green Eyes shakes his head. “Not here,” he says and shrugs his duffel better on his shoulder. It clinks.

Steve leads him down the right hall and up to the third floor, into the medical. Green Eyes looks displeased by this, but sits quietly and lets a nurse -the same that patched Green Eyes up last time, if her smile and eye roll are any indigation- take a look at his wounds. Turns out, the bite on his shoulder is the most serious, and can be handled with, like, two stitches and gauze, so Green Eyes is released in under ten minutes.

 “No more injuries for the week, alright,” the nurse says when they’re leaving, “your latest have barely healed.”

Natasha joins them, silently like a cat to Green Eyes’ heels. Steve notices because he keeps glancing behind, but Green Eyes looks like Natasha doesn’t exist. Clint comes across them in the kitchen where Steve insisted they grab water because Green Eyes lost a lot of blood. After the archer finishes yelling in surprise and horror, he flanks them too.

 “Who’re you?” Clint asks and circles Green Eyes casually. Green Eyes barely even glances at the man, shrugs his duffel up his shoulder and eyes around Steve's ear.

 “You don’t needta know.” He replies. Clint looks like he disagrees, face scrunched up in that stubborn look Steve already knows too well.

 “JARVIS, run a facial recognition.”

Green Eyes doesn’t seem miffed by the order, his face remaining a calm mask of indifference.

 “I already have, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS informs him, voice regretful, “I have not found anything.”

At this, Natasha frowns, mirroring Steve’s own expression, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s still keeping tail, and Steve noticed how she kept out of sight in the kitchen. He supposes she’s testing Green Eyes’ skills, and would bet money he’s failing, spectacularly.

 “What a shame, isn’t it?” Green Eyes mocks as they enter the room Tony had prepared for their surprise guest. Steve hesitates when he’s starting to close the door; Clint has no preservations about getting in, but Natasha lingers outside, against the wall.

 “She can come in, you know, unless she has a thing about getting into strengers’ rooms, which is fine, encouraged, even,” Green Eyes says after he has set the duffel at the foot of the bed. Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up, more for Steve than an actual reaction, as she steps into the room. Green Eyes whistles, more mirth than lust, and Steve can sense Natasha rolling her eyes. He closes the door only partly, notices how this both lifts a weight off Green Eyes’ shoulders and makes them tense.

 “Why didn’t you say you noticed me?” Natasha demands in her usual soft but menacing voice that means she already knows the answer. Steve advances and sees the stare she’s pinning the guy down with; it’s not quite the level that Black Widow is known for, but also rather intimidating. Green Eyes smiles mirthfully.

“It was fun having you tail me and wondering how tense I can be.”

“Why would you willingly pretend to be defenseless?” Steve asks.

Natasha doesn’t break her stare, but Green Eyes does, to glance at Steve with an eyebrow raised.

It’s Clint who answers. “It brings an advantage if they get attacked,” he says and eyes their still bloodied guest sceptically, “what I don’t get why you’d out yourself.”

Green Eyes shrugs and crosses his arms. “Consider it a show of trust. Now, can I wash off in peace or do you wanna watch? Because I think I’m gonna need a raincheck for that offer because I am not quite in my prime condition right now.”

Steve is out the door before he can finish the sentence, schooling down a flush that formed in split second he had considered the offer. Natasha is soon to follow, an amused quirk to her lips as she studies Steve. Clint takes a little longer to emerge, and when he does, it’s with a dopey smirk.

 “Our new friend has a mouth, I tell you,” he says, swinging an arm around Natasha’s shoulders.

 “Wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly,” Steve murmurs.

 “Future boyfriend, maybe,” Natasha teases airily. Steve is thankful he can hear the shower already running, because if Green Eyes had heard that comment…

 “Please stop,” he whispers pathetically. A grin splits Natasha’s face, that rare but familiar glint lighting her eyes.

 “I didn’t say _yours_.”

 

* * *

 

Green Eyes wanders to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, in a fresh set of clothes and a brightness to his eyes.

 “That shower has _amazing_ pressure, I am in love,” he says the moment his eyes land on Steve. Steve smiles awkwardly and Clint snickers.

 “Good to know someone here appreciates such things,” Tony calls from the kitchen island, immersed in his StarkPad. Green Eyes grins, situating himself near Tony, hip against the counter.

 “Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way. I get I’m not supposed to come back to people after I leave the second I can.”

Tony hums, that indulgent tone Steve sometimes hates. “So I’ve been looking you up, stranger, and there are exactly two matches to your face from security cameras and one in the background of a selfie, all in Massachusetts,” he says, pulls up a holograph that displays all three of those pictures and Steve turns to look at Green Eyes curiously. “And what I’m trying to say here, _who the hell_  are you, because you have me and JARVIS stumped and that doesn’t happen often.”

Green Eyes’ lips thin as he thinks. It’s an expression that seems to adorn his face often, as the few lines he has deepen with it.

 “Dean,” he says after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, “Winchester,” follows stiffly afterwards.

Tony taps in the name, and another holographic screen comes up, displaying all the sixteen Dean Winchesters America has to offer. All are too old or too young or not right and Tony goes through them in seconds and declares all of them wrong.

 “Impressive,” Natasha says. She leans closer to watch before Tony discards the holograms.

 “Very,” Clin agrees eagerly, “So, what. You had a face _and_ body transplant and changed your name to escape the clutches of your old life?”

Green- Dean chuckles and cosses his arms, “As amusing as that would have been, sorry, no.”

Natasha eyes him sceptically. “I hate that you’re not lying so I can’t punch you right now.”

Dean smirks, sharp and all teeth. “Honey, you can get rough with me anytime.”

Everyone rolls their eyes while Dean just continues grinning until Natasha huffs and straightens to face the man properly. He’s practically towering over her form, but it doesn’t make Natasha any less intimidating. The scary part is, neither of them seem to be even trying, but they both look like they’re challenging each other.

 “Alright, story time?” Green Eyes breaks the staring contest first with a glance around the room, “Guess I owe you that much.”

“Yes _please_ ,” Tony grumbles, apprently fed up he couldn’t find anything on Dean. Not even by the fingertips he had apparently had scanned at some point.

 “Okey… So apparently accidental dimensional travel is a thing, and I got suckerpunched here from my own universe.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“That’s _crazy,_ ” Tony says at the same time, “you’ve either lost your mind or suffering from some freaky memory loss or-“

Dean’s lips curl up in an expression that is not at all amused. Tony's words fade.

 “As in, you’re from an alternate reality?” Natasha asks. Dean nods, “How do you know?”

 “Because from where I’m from, you guys are comic book characters someone made money with. I grew up on Captain America and Iron Man.”

 “It’s not like there aren’t comics about us here, too,” Clint says, clearly not buying any of it.

 “And I’m over thirty, man,” Dean answers, nonpuzzled by everyone’s lack of conviction, “Iron Man’s been around for what, four years?”

Clint rolls his eyes but settles for that.

 “Five, actually," Tony informs slowly, carefully. He has A Look. An alarmed look -shock, horror and sadness all twirled into one expression- flickers over Dean’s face, ripples across it only to disappear a split second later and change into acceptance -like it’s something he simply forgot about. The sadness seems to root in his green eyes, though, just another drop into the ocean.

 “Right,” Dean clears his throat, “so, I’m stuck in the wrong universe and kinda really need help getting back. Any chance you can help?”

 “I always love a challenge,” Tony says, and Steve can see he is both extremely excited and very hesitant. It’s a rare combination in Stark, “But I think I might be over my head with this one. Whether I even believe you is debatable, because I’m convinced you hit-“

“Anthony Edward Stark,” Dean interrupts with a deadly calm, “in 2008, kidnapped by the Ten Rings, got sharpnel in your chest from your own missile, which the arc reactor is keeping from your heart-“ Tony sucks in a breath as Dean leans in closer, to whisper in his ear so quietly even Steve can’t hear what he’s saying.

“Stop!”

Tony snaps and Dean recoils away, mouth clamping shut so fast Steve can hear his teeth click. His lips thin into a white line, concerned as he looks at Tony.

 “I get it, okay, I’ll talk to Bruce, see what we can come up with,” he says with a trembling voice, already stumbling out of the room.

 “The arc reactor… Does what?” Steve asks slowly, voice aghast. Dean’s expression shifts as he aligns himself to face Steve.

“Fuck, you guys didn’t know…”

Natasha shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. Tony’s secretive at best.”

Steve turns to look at the two Agents. Clint looks nearly as uncomfortable as Steve feels. The Black Widow is as cool as a cucumber, as usual, but Steve has learned to read her well enough to realize she isn’t hiding her shock because she isn’t shocked.

 “You knew,” he says accusingly, because he’s never been good at letting things go and they’re a team goddamnit. He should be informed on things like this before he goes and does something catastrophic like tell Tony it’s stupid to stick a light in his chest so it could power his suit. Natasha doesn’t even blink when she regards Steve with emotionless eyes.

 “I wrote his file, Steve, of course I knew.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s kind of important!”

Natasha is vibrating with the urge to pounce on him, to shut him up with a fist to the mouth. “Because it’s confidential! Tony told me because he was drunk and- and I’m not proud of using him that way, but he trusted me enough to tell me, and-“ Natasha cuts off, straightens from the threatening crouch and crosses her arms, “I didn’t put it on his file,” she finishes flatly, “so no one else knew either.”

That about shuts Steve up. He casts a look at Clint, who’s frozen on the sofa, leaning his forearms on his knees, then at Dean, who looks to be readying himself to stop a fight. And that brings Steve to realize he’s still grinding his teeth together, breath shallow.

 “Okay,” he forces out, “Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ he shakes his head.

Natasha closes her eyes momentarily, breathes in and out and leaves the room. Clint follows soon after, silently, and then it’s just Dean and him.

 “So that went well.” Dean says, voice tight. Steve feels like blaming him, giving at least a lecture, doing something, but he knows Dean feels guilty already and it wouldn’t do much good.

 “Yeah,” he agrees quetly.

 “I’m sorry man, I didn’t know it would escalate like this.”

 “It’s okay.”

They stand in silence. Dean is standing stock still, as if Steve wouldn’t pay him attention if he doesn’t move. Steve deliberately doesn’t fidget.

 “How much do you know about us?” He asks in the end. Dean shrugs, uncomfortable.

 “Enough, I think. Most I know comes from the comics, but I’ve seen the movies up until… 2011.”

Steve frowns. “So you don’t.. Know what happened last year?”

“Oh, no. The Chitauri thing, right?” Dean says, “I can use the Internet. What did you think I did with my six days of bedrest?”

Steve acknowledges this with a tilt of his head. Fair enough.

 “So we’re pretty fucked up, huh?” he asks, attempting to sound more casual and less miserable than he is. He knows what they are: a billionaire, a WWII hero, a demigod from another planet, two assassins and a part time monster. Most of them are pretty inclined to ignore both their own and each other’s problems, but Tony had recommended them all to a therapist, and Steve at least goes once every other week. Dean only shrugs one shoulder, and that it the least mortified answer from anyone who knows all their problems, the Avengers included.

 “I’ve seen worse.” Steve somehow doubts his statement, but doesn’t call him out on it. Dean gets to say what he wants to say.

 “So if we’re comic book and movie characters in your universe, how come you’re not one in ours?”

Dean chuckles, switches his body weight just enough so he doesn’t look uncomfortable. “It’s stuff for another universe, I guess. Though I’m grateful because I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if I had the same face as some actor.”

 “You say it like you know there’s an universe like that,” Steve points out and Dean grimaces. “There is! Oh, wow. And you’ve been there?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. Somehow that makes Steve think of running his hands in Dean’s light brown hair, and he wonders if it’s soft or not. It looks soft.

 “It was kinda different, though,” Dean shrugs, “we replaced the actors for a while. Horrible, not recommended. I’m a crappy actor and my best friend’s actor’s name was Misha,” he makes a face at that and pronounces the name purposefully silly, “and my brother was married to the chick that got him addicted…” Dean trails off, frowns. “So, like that. Did not like.”

Steve deliberately chooses not to notice the longing he hears in the word brother, because it’s so intimate and if he thinks of it too much he’ll start thinking of Bucky and _that’s_ a trainwreck waiting to happen.

 “Are you hungry?” He blurts out before he can start having too many feelings. “We were going to make dinner before…” He gestures helplessly with his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint wanders into the kitchen fourty minutes after leaving, lured in by JARVIS and the promise of food.

He stops at the entrance, taken aback by the domesticity Steve and… D-Dean? Dean- emit. Steve isn’t doing much anything, just leaning against the kitchen island and fiddling with the napkins, while Dean does all the work. It smells heavenly, whatever the hell they have cooking, so Clint supposes Steve has done nothing at all the whole time. (Not that Steve can’t cook, because he makes decend soups and such, but he really, _really_ can’t season.)

Clint thinks for a while that they haven’t noticed him, too wrapped up in their weird little world, but when he approaches them, neither of them react, so that was false hope. He peers behind Dean, to identify him elbow deep in dough. Well, one wrist deep in dough.

 “Stand back, Barton, you’ll get in my way,” Dean says and flicks flour from his fingers at Clint.

 “Steve’s right here,” Clint complains, even as he falls back to take a seat at the counter next to Steve.

 “Rogers knows to keep off my feet,” Dean retorts and sends a frown at Clint which only deepens when he sees what the archer is sitting on. He goes back to making bread rolls off his dough.

 “So what are we eating?”

 “Roast chicken and asparagus and _other green shit_ we had in our fridge,” Steve replies with an amused huff as he places an origami crane on top of the napkins. “Is Natasha joining us?”

 “She says she’s ten minutes away from accepting an apology so I would definitely expect an appearance.”

 “Sir and Dr. Banner should also be making their way up shortly,” JARVIS inputs, “they have gotten too invested in their new project so I’m afraid there will be a delay.”

 “Well they better get their asses up here,” Dean grumbles, “I made way too much for only four people.”

Clint enjoys watching Dean, a six-feet-whatever-inches guy in faded jeans and flannel, move in a kitchen that probably cost a couple of hurded as much as everything the guy is wearing, as if he belongs there. Even though Dean is standing right in front of him, most likely for real and not a hallucination, he looks photoshopped in.

Natasha pops up twelve minutes after Clint, and graciously accepts the apology Steve stages as dramatic as it is sincere. She also steals a bread roll from Dean, who just stares disapprovingly. Natasha hums when she discovers the garlic filling, and Dean wiggles his butt and for some reason Clint stares at it for too long after that. He’s not the only one, because Steve is trying not to stare, and Natasha blatantly is, and that is what Tony and Bruce five minutes later walk in on.

Thankfully it’s just at the same time Dean turns around with the chicken, so neither of them see any ass staring happening. Tony grins as if he knows anyway and Dean wiggles his eyebrows somehow collectively to all three of them.

 “Roast chicken with asparagus, courgettes, peas and feta plus garlic bread rolls.” He sets the dish down, then extends a hand to Bruce,

 “Hey, Dean Whinchester, your dimension traveler and a huge fan of the Hulk.”

Bruce grasps his hand. “Oh, hi, um, you know me.”

Dean grins in a way that is full of life for all of two seconds. Clint wonders, as the gleefulness fades into a resigned smile, just how much did Dean leave behind when he was plunged into a wrong dimension. They settle around the table and Dean refuses to serve them the food after Tony tries teasing him into doing it, and after a quick poll they decide Tony gets to watch for two minutes. Clint enjoys it a bit too much, he admits that much. Dean’s food is delicious anyway so it’s not hard to exaggerate the sounds he makes. Altough everyone else looks delightfully disgusted by him, Dean only joins him and grins with all teeth when Steve sighs so deeply his shoulders hunch. Steve very rarely sighs so hard his shoulders hunch.

 “So if you’re a fan of Hulk,” Tony starts after he’d gotten food in his mouth, “is he also your favourite?”

Dean points his fork at the billionaire. “First things first, my favourite _superhero_ is Batman, and no one can change that, but out of you guys, I guess Black Widow.”

Natasha looks decidedly more smug than she needs to.

 

* * *

 

Clint calls Laura immediately after he reaches his room.

 “Hey, honey,” she answers with a sleepy yawn, “why are you calling at this time? Urgent mission somewhere behind God’s back?”

Clint chuckles. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Laura hums and yawns again. “That’s sweet, love. Something you want to tell me?”

He really shouldn’t be surprised anymore that Laura is ridiculously good at reading him.

 “Uh… This is kind of awkward,” he says. Laura lets out a questioning sound. “We have a -a new guy here. I don’t know how long he’ll be staying, but uh- I just spent five minutes staring at his ass and, you know.” There’s a delighted snort and snigger and Clint can imagine Laura pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle any further laughter.

“Like accidental space-out staring or..?” She asks after a too long silence of muffled giggles with a too cheery tone in her voice.

 “Oh, definitely not an accident.”

Clint can hear the smile in her voice when she asks if he’s even that cute.

“I bet JARVIS has some pictures he can send you.” Laura hums her agreement and Clint asks JARVIS to do just that.

 “Wow,” she smacks her lips, “definitely cute. Where did you find him?”

 “I actually have no idea.” Clint confesses and it’s true enough, “He knows Steve I think?”

Laura yawns again. “Well, if you plan on sinning, call me first, okay? He’s worth it.”

“I don’t- I’m not-“ Clint sighs at Laura’s indulgent hum, “thanks, honey. I love you.”

“Oh, I know you do."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean never actually tells Steve what the bite mark was all about, despite his promise and even though Steve’s been making him unnecessarily uncomfortable staring at it the first evening and morning and day. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Steve knows it’s almost none of his damn business, but on the other hand, Dean is staying in his and the Avengers’ home. He can’t make Dean talk about it, because that would be insensitive as well as rude. For the first time ever, Steve curses that the medical staff in the compound is so accustomed to not getting answers that they’ve stopped asking. Still, he takes that grain of an idea and jogs down to the medical the next morning, when he knows everyone is still mostly asleep. He’s in luck, because it’s the same nurse, with the pretty brown eyes and an intelligent smile, on duty.

 “Hi,” he says, a little breathlessly.

 “Captain Rogers,” she replies calmly and looks him over for any visible injuries. She quirks a brow. “How can I help you?”

Steve rarely needs medical, because he heals faster than even Thor, and thus rarely comes down here unless someone is forcing him because apparently _it’s not cool to leave a broken arm alone even if it’ll heal in a couple of hours, Rogers_.

 “I was wondering, about the guy I brought in the other day?” she nods, a soft _ah_ escaping her lips, “The bite on his shoulder, what animal do you think did it?”

She looks more than a little hesitant, pen tapping against her paper unconciously. "I'd say it was a dog bite. The- the positioning and the angle were a little weird but. It matches with a bigger dog or maybe a wolf’s bite.”

 “The angle _is_ off,” Steve agrees quietly. He receives an odd look, but the nurse says nothing if she thinks he’s maybe a little too invested. “Thank you.”

She smiles indulgingly and goes back to her paperwork without another word. Steve tries not to race off, but he manages only outside the door before he’s sprinting again, ignoring the elevator JARVIS dutifully opens for him.

 “Captain Rogers,” the AI reprimands him, and Steve still finds it incredible it can have different tones of voice, “Mr. Winchester is on the top floor of the East wing, surely you won’t be racing all the way there?”

Steve decides not to answer, which leaves a silence in which he supposes JARVIS would sigh if it could sigh.

Top floor, East wing is the space where literally nothing ever happens. It’s a hallway with rooms and a living space, all of which are furnitured in a way that indigates no human has ever been there longer than a day. Tony says the wing is for guests and if they happen to get young superheroes who don’t have a place to be, and yet he stuck Dean with the rest of them in the North wing.

But Dean is there, and he is asleep. Or was, because Steve has pretty heavy steps when he’s not trying to be quiet, and he definitely wasn’t trying just now. Dean sits up, with groggy eyes and a bedhead only Bruce can rival. Though just woken up and visibly tired, Dean looks no less alert as he narrows his eyes at Steve.

 “Cap, what the hell. Let a guy sleep for fucks’ sake.”

 “Why are you sleeping here?” Steve asks instead of instinctively going for the reprimanding _language_ that he’s already been teased about for too many times. Dean shrugs dismmissively and gathers the blanket over his shoulders so only his head is peeking from the fabric. Steve tries not to think about how adorable a grown man can look.

 “I couldn’t sleep so I wandered.”

The sleeping part’s not what Steve worries about, at the moment. A lot of them can’t sleep, won’t sleep. Steve’s body won’t let him and other times it’s his nightmares. Tony can’t fall asleep because he has space behind his eyelids and Bruce sleeps in snippets, doesn’t dare to dream because he is afraid of a nightmare and waking the Hulk, Natasha won’t sleep unless her body crashes, Clint has nightmares about Loki. No, what Steve worries about is that JARVIS lets Dean wander. Yes, he is not a prisoner and Steve understands if he can’t sleep and he understands the need to move. Just… wander. JARVIS lets Dean wander. Just like that.

 “What are you doing here?” Dean asks then, just a little defensively, “JARVIS told me no one comes here.”

Ah. Not so much wandering then, but getting away from other people.

 “I was looking for you, actually. Sorry I woke you up, I didn’t know you were asleep.”

 “It’s fine." Though it obviously isn't, "What do you need me for?”

 “You have questions to answer to.”

 "Look," Dean says as he pushes his fingers through his hair and thus flattens it down. Steve obeys. "It's not something you would believe anyway, so I'm just gonna come clean and you'll call me mad."

Steve already thinks Dean is a little mad.

 "I got bitten by a wendigo."

Steve snorts. He can't help it. "Wendigo. What's that?"

 "It's a monster that used to be a human and  feeds on humans. Helluva hunter and a bitch to kill."

 "Humans don't have teeth like  _that._ " 

Dean rolls his eyes, and, yeah, he'd warned Steve. "That's why I said  _used to be_. They eat people and get less human as time goes on."

Steve acknowledges this with a downturned head. It doesn't mean he believes Dean any more. "Is that what it was? You encounter someone and they bite you? What did you do?"

 "Took care of it." It's a phrase Steve hears often enough from his teammates. To Natasha it means killing more than often than not, to Clint something between that and unconciousness, and to Tony just whatever is Tony's perception of 'taking care of it' at the time. To Dean, Steve thinks it means killing.

 "Did you have to?" Steve accepts it when you have to. He isn't going to claim he's never killed anyone, but it's his policy to try not to.

 "Yes."

And that's that.

 

* * *

 

 They don't talk about it again.

Steve looks up wendigos, and then he has to sit on his bed because that's just ridiculous. 

Wendigos are  _myths._ Old folklore of the Natives. 

Dean is crazy. Something must've affected hi brain that Tony's doctors didn't catch, or Dean's always been crazy. One of the two.

And then, since Steve isn't  _above_ such things (because let's face it; the Norse have a lot of folklore about Asgardians) he decides it isn't  _completely_ impossible. He's heard stories of lost campers eating one another out of necessity. Some could have gone through a... change, for the lack of a better word.

Steve takes a deep breath and falls back on his bed.

 Okay.

* * *

 

Dean doesn't stay a third day.

JARVIS informs everyone once they've made it to the communal kitchen (sundays: team breakfast) that "Mr. Winchester thanks Sir for his hospitality and apologizes for leaving without notice. He is unsure of his return."

It sounds at least a little like JARVIS is saying Dean isn't sure if he'll  _live,_ which Tony is not a huge fan of.

Not that he cares what some weird, suspiciously hot could-be-a-murderer-now-that-I-think-about-it does with his life. It's just... you know. If he decides to solve his problems by suicide JARVIS' message could be used as evidence that they were aware of his intetions but still did nothing to help - and the Avengers don't need that kind of publicity.

(Later, he'll ask JARVIS if Winchester looked and acted fine, and JARVIS will tell him that if Tony is worried about Mr. Winchester's safety, he has the license plate of the car and can easily find Dean if Tony so desires, and Tony will scoff and tell JARVIS not to be ridiculous and that he's worried about the team's reputation, of course, to which JARVIS will not respond because that's the kind of person he is.)

So for now Tony drinks his coffee and amuses himself with Steve's confused kicked-puppy expression, which only makes an appearance when the Captain is sad but not sure why. 

Oh, Tony knows why.

Natasha and Clint act like they didn't even hear what JARVIS said - rude - but Tony knows they know because they and Dean became sort of Pals when they all started getting Dangerously Flirty. (Not the kind of dangerous flirting which leads to sex one will regret later, but the kind where Tony got the picture that they're all trying to woo each other by exchanging best ways to disembowel people. He'd had to bow out at that point.)

Bruce actually probably didn't hear JARVIS because he woke up two seconds after he stopped speaking, and because Bruce saw Dean like once, and so he doesn't really care. If he even remembers Dean because Tony knows Bruce started zoning out right after they got introduced and he probably thinks that dinner was a dream of some sort.

So yeah. That's that. 

* * *

 

Steve approaches Natasha after breakfast, and at first she thinks he wants to go sparring with her, but then she looks at his face and that's  _not_ his sparring face.

She sighs, hand on hip. 

 "What's up?" 

She knows what's up. 

But surprisingly what comes out of Steve's mouth  _isn't_ him mournfully serenading Dean or moaning the loss of a potential pranking partner - oh wait, the latter was Clint's.

Instead, he asks: "How many myths do you know are true?"

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Unexpected. She likes that.

 "Depends on the myth, I'd say. What sort are you thinking of?"

Steve hesitates. Wow. Something has shaken his worldview on this fine day. "Folktales, mostly."

 "None, as far as I'm aware. There have been cases that have almost been accurate to the truth, but usually when something... paranormal happens, it's by the hands of normal people." She lifts her chin, a little bit, "Why?"

 Steve doesn't answer. Instead he nods to her, turns on his heels and disappears behind a corner. Natasha doesn't follow him, just because she knows he'll come back.

* * *

A few weeks pass. Natasha trains with Clint and Steve and alone, and brings Bruce and Tony food when they're too stubborn to take care of themselves and Clint and Steve refuse to go down there anymore because their ability to intimidate their geniuses has worn out.

 Natasha's hasn't and won't.

Thor comes back and when he asks how things have been everyone goes a little quiet, until Natasha decides to tell him about a weird guy with a nice ass who stopped by for a couple of days.

Thor says he's sad to have missed that and it's the last time anyone mentions Dean.

Or, well.

It would have been, if exactly two weeks since his stay Steve hadn't collected them all in their often unused meeting room and had them all sit down.

Natasha sits still, an uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades, as she listens to the series of strange, unrelated murders. Some are grotesque: whole bodies ripped apart; others, not so. They're scattered all across America, but the largest concentration is still near the East coast. 

The reason they all tie together and why Steve has decided this is their business: Dean Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

 " _What_ ," Tony fumbles on the word, tongue suddenly very heavy, "do you  _mean_?"

Sure, he knows what Steve means. It's not really a hard concept to grasp. There have been murders, all left unsolved, and Dean Winchester has been seen near almost all the sites.

Everyone  _looks_ at him and Tony just shrugs.

 "Exactly what I just said." Steve still calmly explains because that's the kind of person Cap is. "It can't be a coincidence, so either Dean... Winchester is trying to solve these crimes, or..."

He trails off, looking mighty uncomfortable.

 "He's the one committing them." Natasha finishes for him. She has hidden herself behind crossed arms and spread legs, and despite being dressed in baby blue pajamas and fluffy slippers, she looks more like Black Widow than Natasha.

A cold, heavy weight settles in Tony's stomach. Reality, he knows what it feels like when it makes itself known. Harsh, evil. When he swallows, there's a bad taste in his mouth.

Tony knew Dean was too bizarre and handsome to not be a murderer.

 "How do you know about this?" Bruce chimes in, sounding tired, resting his head on his hands. Tony knows he actually is just tired, very close to falling asleep on his feet, not uninterested.

Steve's neck gains a red hue, embarrassment apparent. Under other circumstances Tony would find that amusing.

Not this time.

 "Before Dean left, we had a talk about... uh, his..." Steve gestures around the area of his shoulder, "wound."

Sometimes Tony wishes Steve could use words all the time and not just when he's being Captain America.

 "Apparently he got it from a wendigo."

* * *

Bruce is rather well acquainted with folktales. (a hobby from his teenage years when procastinating was better than anything and mythology and such could be extremely useful with that.)

So yeah, he knows what Steve means when he says the word wendigo. Or, he is familiar with the concept of wendigos.

He isn't with the idea of them being real.

Natasha snorts. "That's why you asked me?"

 "Well," Steve shrugs, "until proven wrong, I'm not going to dismiss anything anymore."

 "Riight," Thor drawls from his corner of the room. Thor never did like the conference room: it didn't suit him. "The Elder Gods haven't visited this realm in millenias and I have little faith their children would either."

Bruce doesn't even  _want_ to get into that, and neither does anyone else in the room, really, so they let Thor's words slide over them like ehite noise.

 "There's no  _proof_ that they exist." Bruce tells Steve, who shrugs again. "But, things have been changin recently. We didn't know dimension hopping was possible."

They still don't have concrete proof it does, actually. Just because Dean seems intimately knowledgeable of their pasts, doesn't mean he's read them off comic books in his childhoods. He could hve gained that knowledge differently, in a more sinister way.

 "Okay," Tony interjects, "but how does  _that_ tie into  _this_?"

 "I don't know," Steve admits. 

Maybe it means Dean is mentally ill. Maybe it means he knows more about what's happening than they do. Maybe Dean is mentally ill  _and_ a murderer. 

Bruce doesn't know. 

What he does know, is that now that they're aware of this, none of them have the excuse not to get involved. If they've been housing a criminal, even without their knowledge... he doesn't see the fallout ending well.

* * *

They start the hunt. 

Until proven otherwise, Dean is their suspect and he's the only lead they have. There's no other pattern, none that makes sense, anyway. Disappearances, corpses drained of blood, corpses with their hearts ripped out, odd teeth marks, odd circumstances. And Dean.

None of them want to believe it, Steve least of all. Dean was charming and odd, strange in a way that didn't set off his bells. There was something heavy behind his eyes, but nothing Steve had tought dangerous.

Natasha says murderers sometimes are the most charming people. She doesn't say she suspected him of being one.

They don't want SHIELD to get involved. It doesn't, but only because when Fury sends Coulson down, he takes pity on them.

They have to do it alone.

Coulson understands. Somewhat.

They're on the lookout, teams of two, always alert, hopeful. It's almost as if they're hunting something other than a murderer. They don't think about it.

It's a coincidence, really, that when Tony is alerted that a security camera caught sight of Dean in Illinois, that they're all somewhat in the area. They get there at the same time.

An old couple answers their questions. Their son was found dead two days ago, and their daughter went missing last night, and a stranger (they agree that the stranger was indeed Dean when Steve showed them a picture) showed up to ask questions. He'd left, and their granddaughter had disappeared soon after him.

They point the Avengers west of the town, to an old farm, saying if they want to start looking, they better start there. Suspicious people tend to loiter there.

They spread out, search the farm. It's otherwise empty, but Natasha finds him in a large barn. She peers in from a crack in the door and none of them like the look on her face.

She doesn't tell them what's inside.

They gather, Steve and Tony at the front as a shield. The door creaks as it opens. Dean's eyes are drawn to them, but he barely turns. His face has a smear of blood. Steve is reminded of another time some weeks back, when he didn't have to get into a stance, when the whine of Iron Man's repulsors charging didn't ring in his ears.

When Dean didn't have a bloody knife in his hand and a dead body in front of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments. Sorry it's taken a while and that this is a short one.


End file.
